I'll steal beneath yon haunted Tower, The Bat shall flee at sight of me, My Priest, the Night-Fly humming. Yon Spectre's iron shroud I'll wear The night-shade too, besprent with dew, Is it the storm that Jasper feels? Ah no! 'tis passion blighted! The Owlet's shriek makes white my cheek, The dark Toads stray across my way, And sorely am I frighted. Amid the broom my bed I'll make, And Mary dear! wert thou but here, To weave a crown of willow. The church-yard path is wet with dew→ Beneath the yew-tree's shadow long But I shall weep when others sleep! How merrily the Lark is heard! How sullen moans the midnight main; How wide the dim scene stretches! The moony light, all silvery white, Across the wave illumes the grave Of Heaven-deserted wretches. The dead lights gleam, the signal sounds! Now to the silent river's side With frantic haste the green bank paced, The BRITISH STRIPLING's WAR-SONG. Yes, noble old Warrior! this heart has beat high And I too will fight as my Forefathers fought. Despise not my youth, for my spirit is steel'd, And I know there is strength in the grasp of my hand; Yea, as firm as thyself would I march to the field, And as proudly would die for my dear native land. In the sports of my childhood I mimick'd the fight, My own shout of onset, when the Armies advance, As late thro' the city with banners all streaming, I sped to yon heath that is lonely and bare, For each nerve was unquiet, each pulse in alarm; And I hurl'd the mock-lance thro' the objectless air, And in open-eyed dream proved the strength of my arm. Yes, noble old Warrior! this heart has beat high, And I too will fight as my Forefathers fought! ESTEESI. |